Ten Truths of Life
by MyStateOfMind
Summary: Cheat, Love, Lust, Lie, Innocence, Confusion, Trust, Disappointment, Hypocrite, Inevitable. In response to mamaXunicorn's tagging of me!


_**Title:**__ Ten Truths of Life_

_**Summary:**__ Cheat, Love, Lust, Lie, Innocence, Confusion, Trust, Disappointment, Hypocrite, Inevitable. In response to mamaXunicorn's tagging of me!_

_**Authors Note:**__ So, thanks to my looming exams (7 WEEKS NOW OH MY GOSH) I haven't had any time to write, because I've been cramming for them. I have, however, been reading and when I saw that mamaxunicorn had tagged me in this challenge thing, I had to give it a go. One story a day hasn't cut into my revising time too much, so it's all good. I just want to let you know that I am still alive and as soon as I give myself time to breathe with this revision, I'll update You Make It Real. 7 weeks until exams start, they go on for a month and then it's summer (and I have a pretty busy one planned). I'm hoping not to take 12 weeks to update though, so keep a lookout and don't give up on me just yet! So enjoy this (most are Smitchie, but there's a couple of Naitlyns and some unnamed couples, so they can be any) and let me know which drabbles you liked best please! I have my favourites, but I'd like to see if they're the same as other people's! __**Write ten, short drabbles, inspired by the following words (cheat, love, lust, lie, innocence , confusion, trust, disappointment, hypocrite and inevitable) in the point of view of any Camp Rock character you want. Also, give them some sort of love interest, or friend that they can base their thoughts around. Post the story with the title of "Ten Truths of Life" with the rules as your A/N. I can't really be bothered to tag 5 people and I have family coming any second, so if you want to do it, go for it. Though I'd love to see something from Enigmaforum and Smitchie-Shipper.**_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Nope, don't own._

**CHEAT**

I looked down at the chess board in front of me, wrinkling my nose as I searched for a move to make. This game was pointless, and I wasn't just saying that because Shane had beaten me three times already. There really was no point.

"What are you waiting for, Mitch?" He had this annoying smirk on his face as he waited for me to move one of my pieces, as though he knew he was going to win. Again. Smarmy jerk.

"I'm trying to find some place to go where you won't totally take me," I said, propping my elbow on the table and resting my chin on the palm of my hand as I scanned the board again, my words sinking in a few seconds after I'd spoken them and, when the ambiguity (the potential alternate meaning of my words that would cause great amusement to the gutter-minded people of the world) of my sentence processed in my mind, bringing a blush to my cheeks. "Oh my gosh, I totally didn't... mean it like that."

He laughed – Shane Grey was, apparently, one of the gutter-minded people of the world that would be amused by my comment – and shrugged. "There are two ways I could reply to that statement..."

I glared at him, before sliding my eyes back down to the pawns on the checkerboard square. "Don't bother."

A few more seconds of silence passed and I sighed, unable to find anywhere on the board that I might... wait. Wait, wait, wait. If I... could I... would that...

"Aha!" I cried, moving the bishop diagonally across the board and snatching up the Queen that Shane had moved in his previous go. The Queen was his favourite piece, purely because she could move anywhere, and it was thanks to her that he'd managed to win the last three games anyway. But not this one! Because I had her!

Grinning like a crazy person, I looked over at him and was met with just what I wanted to be met with. He hadn't been expecting that one, had he? Ha!

"I'm not usually a competitive person, but oh my god that felt good," I said after he'd stared at the spot that his beloved chess piece had been grabbed from for a few seconds. Sitting back in my chair, I folded my arms. Even if I lost again, I'd have gained some satisfaction from taking his Queen. Amazing. "Your turn."

Shane lifted his gaze and looked at me wordlessly before his eyes slid to something behind me. His face contorted into a look of disgust. "What the hell is that thing?"

Whipping my head around – I mean, what if it was an insect or something gross like that? - I surveyed the wall of the tourbus behind me for sign of anything disgusting. "What is wh-"

"Checkmate." His voice came from behind me and I turned my head to look down at the board in disbelief. There was no way any of his pieces were in a position to checkmate me. No freakin' way.

"Shane!" My mouth dropped open and I looked back up at him and his smarmy smirk. "I cannot believe you."

Shane held his hands up in defense and shrugged. "Hey. Don't hate the player -"

I rolled my eyes and cut him off, pushing my chair away from the table and standing up. "Hate the **cheat**."

**LOVE**

Life is made up of little moments that have this effect on you. And, if you're one of the lucky ones, you'll eventually have a string of moments like this that can be pieced together to make one long chain of that much sought after feeling of **love**.

There's the moment that you meet someone that you have the potential to **love**. That's a special moment because, while you may not know it yet, this man – or woman, if you're a guy – could be the _one_. He – or she – might not be, sure. But the potential is there.

Then there's the moment where you realize that you're falling in **love**. Maybe it was something big that showed you this, like having a song written about you, or maybe it was something subtle that wouldn't mean as much to anyone else but it struck a chord with you, like a smile in your direction. Suddenly, the potential is gone and it's a reality. You're falling and it feels like nothing can stop you. Most of the time, nothing will stop you.

Then comes the moment where you're actually in **love **and he says that he **loves **you too. Sometimes it doesn't even matter how it's done or delivered, because that's the irrelevant thing. It doesn't matter whether you're sat by the lake where you first met, whether you hear the words in a song dedicated to you or whether he says them on a random occasion like when you're walking down the street. It doesn't matter. Because it's the words - "I **love **you" - that mean the world. Not the location.

There's the amazing moment where he gets down on one knee unexpectedly and declares his unwavering **love **for you and tells you that nothing will ever change it. The heart-stopping, breathtaking moment where he utters the four words that you didn't realize you wanted him to say, but bring waves of relief over you when he does. "Will you marry me?" And, because you **love **him, you say yes. Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

And then, even though your **love **is stronger than ever and it was just the night before that he told you he **loved **you for what must have been the millionth time, there's this jittery moment. This jittery, fairytale moment that you've dreamed of for so long but can't quite believe is happening.

When you're a child, **love **seems all around you, but so alien. You **love **your parents and (if you have them) your siblings. You **love** your friends. But **love** like the **love **in Disney princess movies just doesn't seem to exist in the real world.

But, as you catch his eye from down the aisle and he sends another one of his dazzling smiles in your direction, you know that your childhood perception of **love** is just an example of naivety. **Love **like the **love** in Disney princess movies does exist. Because you're one of them. You're Cinderella and he's Prince Charming.

This moment – this moment right here – is **love**.

**LUST**

This isn't love.

What we have, it's not love.

It can't be love, for one simple reason: I don't love her. And she doesn't love me. What we have isn't love.

She wanted someone to help her get over Shane. After pining over him for two long years, she finally came to the conclusion that we had all come to long before it dawned upon her: he wasn't interested. And, upon coming to this conclusion, she decided that she needed help getting over him. She needed someone to be there. But she didn't want to love that someone. She didn't want love.

I wanted someone to help me get over Mitchie. After spilling my guts to her, she'd very politely and in true Mitchie fashion – which was what I'd loved about her – she told me that it wouldn't work. Because she loved Shane. And Shane loved her. They were in love. I wanted someone to help me get over Mitchie. But I wasn't looking for love. Love hurts. I didn't want love either.

We love the idea of being in love. We love the idea of having someone there when we wake up and someone there when we fall asleep. A shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold. A pair of lips to kiss and hair to run your fingers through.

But this _isn't _love.

What we have, it's not love.

It's **lust**.

**LIE**

I can tell he's **lying**. I mean, jeez, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out he's **lying**. He doesn't look me in the eye and his words don't come out quite right. Stumbling and tripping up over words that he's said to me time and time again. You'd think he'd have perfected them by now, wouldn't you? After years of it.

The truth is, we're both living a **lie**. Our whole lives have been mistake after mistake. It was a mistake to start dating in the first place. It was a mistake to kid ourselves into being in love, when we both knew that we were better as friends. It was a mistake to let people who meant so much to us slip through our fingers because we didn't want to end it.

I love Nate. And he... he loves Mitchie. But because we were both too busy living out our **lie**, we missed our chance to live out something real. Something truthful. And now... well. What now?

So, when he tells me that he's going to meet some friends, I know he's **lying**. I don't have the evidence. And I don't know the details. But I know he's **lying**.

And you want to know a truth?

I don't even care.

**INNOCENCE**

"Billy Pensky said he wanted to kiss me today." She chattered along as we walked down the street, her tiny hand entwined in mine. "He just came up to me and asked me if I mindeded him kissing me."

I'll admit it, part of me screamed inside at the thought of it. Billy Pensky – the eight-year-old kid that seemed to have an obsession with my daughter – wanting to kiss her in the playground. Seriously, it was not the sort of thing that I was doing at eight. At that age I was still convinced that touching girls would give me some fatal disease.

Well... okay. Maybe not quite. But I wasn't going around kissing them, that's for sure.

"And what did you say?" I asked, trying to appear nonchalant about it all. If I was anything but, I'd just get a laugh followed by a 'you're crazy, Daddy'. Even from Mitch, who would probably freak out considerably less and say something along the lines of 'Shane, they're eight years old; it's not like there's much threat of pregnancy.'

She shrugged, looking up at me with her brown eyes. "I said okay. So he did."

Resisting the urge to charge to the police station and file a restraining order on the kid, I looked down at my baby girl and asked the question that I almost didn't want to know the answer to. "So... how was it?"

"It was horrible," she said, pulling a face. "I didn't like it. Sloppy and disgusting. I don't want to kiss people, Daddy. I don't know why you and Mommy like kissing so much."

Thank God.

"You know what?" I replied, grinning down at her as we reached the driveway to the house and thanking God for childhood **innocence.** "Me neither. Me neither."

**CONFUSION**

This was it. My palms were sweating, my hands were shaking and I was looking right at her, praying that she wouldn't notice either of the above. This. Was. It. The fingers of my left hand had been clasped around the little blue box for practically the whole evening and while it wasn't as original as a proposal as I would have liked, it was the only one I was going to get. When you're slap bang in the middle of a tour, there's no way that you can jet off to Paris or Venice or London and make it special. A dinner is about the best you can get.

I know, I know. Why didn't I wait until the tour ended? Why didn't I hold my horses for a couple of months and wait until I could whisk her off to some romantic city for a weekend and do it there? Well... because she'd guess. If I did that, she'd know exactly what was up and I wouldn't see the surprised expression on her face. I _wanted _to see the surprised expression on her face.

Clearing my throat, she looked up at me, smiling as she twirled her fork between her index finger and thumb. No going back now. I had her attention.

"Um... I wanted to... you know I love you, right?" I started, my words incredibly lame and my immediate reaction to hit myself for saying something so stupid incredibly hard to resist. But I did resist.

She wrinkled her nose, looking at me with an expression of **confusion**. Well, I'm not going to lie, I'd probably look confused if someone started a sentence with that. God, I'm an idiot.

"What I mean is... I love you. I've said it before and I hope to say it a million more times in my life and, well, there seems to be one way to ensure that I can keep saying it. Wait, no. I'm trying to... see, this is why I'm a musician and not a public speaker. It's a wonder I can even write lyrics, jeez."

"Shane, what are you trying to say to me?" she asked, leaning forward and looking into my eyes. I could still see the hint of suspicion in them – I knew her well enough to identify any emotion in her eyes – and prayed that my next action would eliminate all suspicion and replace it with devotion. Or happiness. Or... something along those lines.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled the royal blue box from my pocket and flipped it open, holding it out in front of me. A simple diamond ring, that wasn't amazingly flashy or expensive, but that reminded me of her. Not flashy or expensive, but beautiful and happy living a life of simplicity. Forget one knee – people already knew who I was and that I was here, there was no way they were getting a show. Especially if she said no. "Mitch, I'm asking you to marry me."

Her gaze flicked from the ring to me, allowing me to read the emotion in her eyes. And she didn't even have to say the word "yes", because I knew her well enough to identify what was written in her eyes. An element of disbelief. A dab of hysteria. Devotion had replaced suspicion, and the **confusion **was most definitely gone.

**TRUST**

"Aw, come on Caitlyn. Don't you **trust** me?" Nate asked, dodging Mitchie and Shane as they left the dance studio deep in conversation. Probably about what movie they were going to snuggle up to tonight. As long as it wasn't the Notebook again, I was fine. Twice in one week is more than enough times to spend an evening watching two couples who are nauseatingly in love with each other; one couple dying together and the other crying simultaneously on the couch. Give me a break, please. I mean, I love both Mitchie and Shane but god. Not after I've eaten.

I rolled my eyes, walking over to my pile of stuff that I'd thrown in the corner when I came in and picking up my water bottle. It had been an intense few hours and Shane, our ever amazing instructor (half-sarcastic), had decided to end the lesson with a few **trust** exercises. You know, where you fall and your partner has to catch you? Yeah.

"Cait," he went on, standing in front of me with his arms outstretched. "Fall."

Dropping my unopened water bottle onto my hoodie, I sighed and turned my back to him, feigning defeat. "Alright. You ready to catch me?"

"Always," he said.

Hesitating, I leaned back on my heels for a few seconds and then turned to him. "No. Now go away."

Nate groaned, folding his hands across his chest. "Why? What have I done to make your **trust** in me waver? What have I done to deserve such treatment?"

"Um," I put my hand to my chin in mock thought, picking up my items with my free hand. "Let me see. First year of Camp Rock you pushed me in the lake. Second year, you switched my shampoo for shaving cream. And now – after a few years of not hearing from you once – you come back and the first thing you do is try and get me to fall into your arms? Excuse me if that makes me slightly suspicious."

He was silent for a few seconds, eventually heaving a sigh. "If I said that I was sorry..."

"I'm not mad at you, Nate," I said, shrugging as I made to leave the classroom. "I just don't **trust **you."

Turning around, I took a few steps over the polished wooden floor, watching him discreetly in the mirrors that lined the walls. It took only a moment for him to spring to life, overtaking me with about two strides and stopping, dead in front of me.

"Nate, what are you -" I asked, but was cut off when I realized that he was falling. Without even thinking about it, I thrust my arms out and hooked them under his shoulders, keeping him upright. My belongings clattered to the floor around me and he looked up from his propped up position with a grin.

"I **trust **you, Caitlyn. And I'm going to get you to **trust** me again. Just you wait and see."

**DISAPPOINTMENT**

This... I hadn't been expecting this. I hadn't been expecting this sort of reaction. And I know that Shane hadn't either. His hand was still clutching mine and I could tell he was still waiting for my dad to jump him for getting me – as he would say it – in "this situation". But no. There was no death threats. No screaming. No groundings or punishments that it was probably too late for anyway. No.

And you know what? Part of me wanted that. Part of me wanted my dad to yell and stomp his foot over the fact that his youngest daughter was pregnant at eighteen. Part of me wanted my mom to scream at me and tell me how stupid I'd been. Part of me wanted the response that I'd expected, because the response that I'd received... well, I didn't like it. It was worse.

They just looked at me, their faces grave and their eyes telling me that they'd expected better of me. That they'd never have expected their responsible daughter to put herself in a position where she could be pregnant at eighteen. They looked at Shane – the boyfriend that I know they'd been slightly wary of, but who'd won them over with his charm and his obvious devotion for me – and did the same. They'd put their trust in him and he'd blown the responsibility too.

We'd been prepared for the screaming and the yelling. We'd been prepared for the lectures and the accusations of irresponsibility.

What we hadn't been prepared for, was the look in their eyes.

It wasn't the threats and the anger that got to me. It was the **disappointment.**

**HYPOCRITE**

**Hypocrites.**

How can they ground me? How can they ground me for doing something that they've both confessed to doing themselves? For God's sake, I snuck out to see my boyfriend who was about to embark on a tour of the goddamn world! It wasn't like I was sneaking out for the sake of it. Or sneaking out because I wanted to get some. I was sneaking out to say goodbye for four freakin' months!

**Hypocrites.**

They sit there, watching TV and discussing me as though I'm some sort of problem child. As though they're saints and have lived perfectly perfect lives. Are you kidding me? They were worse than us. I know for a fact that they snuck out to meet each other at night. Hello, I was the outcome of one of those adventures. How can they lecture me, when the whole reason they have me is because they disobeyed their parents? I, Caitlyn Gellar, am only here because they decided to be rebellious teenagers. So why am I being punished for doing a similar thing?

God, it's not even that similar. At least there's no chance in hell of me being pregnant after my late night tirade with Nate.

Goddamn **hypocrites.**

Thanks, Mom and Dad. These four months will just _fly _by now.

**INEVITABLE**

It was written in the stars. Some may call it fate or meant to be. It was written and planned and all in the tapestry of life that destiny maps out for us when we're born. You know, if you believe in that sort of thing. Or, it could just be a series of coincidences, leading up to an **inevitable **conclusion.

It was a coincidence that she managed to get there at all. The caterer had had to drop out at the last minute and it was pure coincidence (or so she thought) that her mom found the advertisement and applied. It was a coincidence that she managed to make it to Camp Rock that summer.

It was coincidence that he got sent there. After all of his stunts, it was the storming off the music video that got him shipped off to Camp Rock. If his bandmates had let that one slide and decided that his next tantrum was the final straw, maybe he would never have met her that summer. It was a coincidence that he was sent to Camp Rock at that time.

It was a coincidence that he heard her singing. If he hadn't had to run away from those damn screaming fangirls, he might never have heard the voice and his only goal that summer would be to avoid the marriage proposals that seemed to haunt him. That was a coincidence.

It was a coincidence that she chose to sing 'This Is Me' at Final Jam. She didn't write a new song, or perform 'Who Will I Be?'. No. She sung the one that he'd heard and the one that he recognised. Coincidence.

Some, may call the fact that they fell in love fate. These coincidences weren't, in fact, coincidences at all, but the work of fate. Destiny, guiding them along.

Or... it could just have been a series of coincidences that all built up to an **inevitable **conclusion in the end.

Either way... Shane and Mitchie fell in love. Smitchie. All the way.


End file.
